Charismatic Viruses

I'm looking for them. With a plastic shovel and bucket for my telescope. Treating the dirt like punctuation. Using it to make sense of so many words. I look for them. Through spotty glasses where the loose skin collects during blizzards of the self. When footprints are the only map. How you were lost the key to being found.

His response already infected with my silence. An alarm I can't turn off.

I'm coughing. Trying to swallow the phlegm that's formed a spider web in my throat. But it's still there collecting victims. I'm anticipating the sickness. Knowing the disease is the key to the cure.